


A Piece of Reality

by ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Magic, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 13:54:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass/pseuds/ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass
Summary: Minghao is awkward, doesn’t move under Jeonghan’s gaze. If he weren’t quite so ruthless in reminding himself about his position within this palace, Jeonghan might mistake himself for the one with authority in this room.





	A Piece of Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters I write about are inferred from public personas but should not be taken as accurate portrayals of their real world counterparts. Some fans have a hard time separating fantasy and reality, so before you read my story, I implore you to recognize these as characters, not celebrities. Please don’t project what you read in stories onto real people. Please respect real people.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy my fic.
> 
> Pronunciation guide:  
> Kaeolnmrow = cowl-en-mroh  
> Gewreanao = geh-ren-ow

A simple shirt never seemed so secure to Jeonghan before, what with how thin they are, but wandering the corridors of the Kaeolnmrow palace, he couldn’t care less about fine fabrics and the absence of embroidery from his dress. A royal usually demands attention and respect with how they present themselves, however that is the last thing Jeonghan wants. Within these walls, no one regards Jeonghan for his bloodline, he is just another servant, and he intends to keep it that way.

It’s been a little more than two months since he was sent away from home, from dear, lush, green Gewreanao, and while he does still miss it terribly, he thinks he’s adjusted to his circumstances. Hansol has been an indispensable ally in the transition, far more valuable than half the courtiers Jeonghan’s ever had cause to associate with. Although, perhaps that’s a bit cruel to both parties, seeing as Hansol’s greatest service to Jeonghan has been as a distraction; whenever Jeonghan missteps, Hansol has invariably done something worse.

By the grace of Hansol’s clumsiness and Jeonghan’s own wit, he has avoided much scrutiny and adapted quickly. He goes practically unnoticed now, even the head of staff hardly looks him in the eye when she gives orders anymore, sure that he will meet her expectations, and meet them efficiently.

He’s been tasked with polishing the brass in the ballroom today, and he’s been left alone to do it. Jeonghan doesn’t particularly mind the grand task being solely his. It’s a compliment, really, means that he’s proven himself capable, and he understands that the hands that would have assisted him are best utilized elsewhere in preparation for the gala.

It doesn’t take him too long to be halfway done, but that’s when prince Minghao and two others - one of whom Jeonghan can only assume by their posture is a tutor of some sort - walk into the hall. The training he went through when he first arrived in the palace tells Jeonghan that he should leave, but incomplete chores do not go over well with the head of staff, so Jeonghan isn’t keen on excusing himself. He cannot continue his work though as long as they are present; a servant must not be in the way, a servant must only be visible when desired, especially when it comes to the nobles.

The tutor is clearly a thoughtless person. Regardless what the lesson they’re teaching is, if they needed a ballroom, one of the smaller halls should have sufficed. The grand hall must be prepared for the gala, as the tutor must know, and yet they still came here.

“Prepare, Sire,” the tutor says. His voice is much too harsh for speaking to the heir of the throne, surely. Such a tone would result in a prompt dismissal from service in Gewreanao, yet Minghao does not seem disgruntled. He seems to do as he’s bid.

The other disruptor of Jeonghan’s work is a woman who quickly took her place at the nearest piano upon entering the room. The scene unfolds as Jeonghan watches, peering around the corner from his hiding space nestled in one of the window nooks, and he understands it’s a dance lesson.

Minghao’s arms lift as if to mold themselves against the form of an invisible person in front of him, and then he starts to move as music rings out and fills the ballroom. He doesn’t dance for very long before the tutor halts him though, chastising him in yet another display of what Jeonghan would think is insubordination.

“Keep your chin up, Sire. Mind your posture.” The tutor glances at the pianist before turning back to Minghao, his gaze impressively hard as he says, “Again.”

Jeonghan doesn’t dare count the minutes he spends hiding, watching. Even if he did care to, he would have great difficulty focusing on the task considering how aggravated he becomes as the lesson progresses and the tutor only continues to scold Minghao. To his credit, Minghao handles the criticism well, but Jeonghan has always been good at reading people, and he can see the fractures in Minghao’s mask even from a distance.

The tutor sighs, “That’s all for today, Sire. We will pick up again tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wu,” Minghao says, nodding his head at the tutor when he bows shallowly. He stands rigid as Mr. Wu and the pianist leave the ballroom, and once the grand doors close behind them, his shoulders drop.

For a moment, Jeonghan thinks he’s going to cry, but Minghao is quick to right his posture again and, to Jeonghan’s surprise, position himself to dance. His arms are up, and he takes careful steps in small circles around the room.

Something about this scene is more upsetting than watching Minghao be critiqued. Surely Minghao is tired, surely he has other business that he will be called to soon enough, yet he practices more. Jeonghan knows the sorts of pressures he must be facing, and so he knows how destructive this kind of behavior can be. He saw it in Seokmin, the blatant desire for perfection, for their father’s approval, and he saw it drive Seokmin to his sickbed again and again, despite Jeonghan’s best attempts to soothe him.

Damn. Jeonghan doesn’t quite see Minghao anymore. He blinks but he just sees Seokmin - fragile, lovely, loving, _his_ Seokmin.

He can’t watch anymore.

Stepping out of his nook, Jeonghan clears his throat. The sound echoes sharply through the room and Minghao spins on his heel rapidly, his eyes wide as they focus on Jeonghan. Bowing, Jeonghan says, “Forgive me, Sire, I did not mean to startle you.”

Minghao stares at him for a long moment, then shakes his head as if to clear it before he nods in silent permission for Jeonghan to straighten as he says, “It’s alright. I just thought I was alone.”

“Then I suppose I was doing my job well.” Jeonghan hasn’t had many chances to observe Minghao, so he isn’t sure if he’s playing with fire right now, but he’s inclined to think he’s safe. Minghao doesn’t seem particularly volatile, and he has yet to earn himself a title in any field; an odd thing for the Kaeolnmrow monarchy since the ascension of the Xu line to the throne.

The imposed image of Seokmin flickers as Jeonghan thinks of Minghao’s lineage. He appears harmless, and behaves accordingly as well, but he is still the son of the Faerie King, the Abductor, the Ruiner. Suddenly fire seems an understatement - if he’s wrong about Minghao’s nature, then right now Jeonghan is taunting the form of pure, unadulterated wrath incarnate.

Jeonghan has a hard time believing himself to be wrong, though, and not only because it would hurt his pride. Minghao is awkward, doesn’t move under Jeonghan’s gaze. If he weren’t quite so ruthless in reminding himself about his position within this palace, Jeonghan might mistake himself for the one with authority in this room.

“If I may be so bold,” Jeonghan starts, taking a few cautious steps forward, “as to offer my assistance in your practice, Sire, I think you will find me a fairly adept partner.”

Minghao eyes Jeonghan, clearly assessing, and Jeonghan wonders if he’s been sheltered from court to still be so transparent. He is undeniably young, Jeonghan thinks, as he accepts Jeonghan with surprising speed, saying, “A partner would likely be beneficial.”

There’s no reason for Minghao to fear or be wary of Jeonghan specifically - he’s a prince in hiding with no intentions to physically harm; his design for being in the Kaeolnmrow palace instead of on some farm is purely to gather what information he can undetected - but for him to trust so easily is naive to the point of farce for a royal. Jeonghan may be a servant in Minghao’s eyes, but he is a servant because it is an excellent cover, and many more malicious individuals are aware of this fact too.

It’s not Jeonghan’s place to worry over the heir of Kaeolnmrow though. If anything, he should hope the naiveté lasts until Minghao takes the throne so that he may be an easy opponent if the time comes that they are pitted against one another. But they are not at war, not with each other, not now, at least, and so Jeonghan brushes his thoughts and evaluations aside to cross the distance between himself and Minghao fully.

He waits for Minghao to initiate, rest his hand high on Jeonghan’s waist and hold the other out for Jeonghan to place his own hand into. Minghao’s palm is clammy when Jeonghan positions himself, and before he thinks too hard about it, he smiles warmly and says, “Dancing is nothing to be nervous about, Sire.” He pauses a moment, firms his hand on Minghao’s shoulder, then asks, “Are you ready?”

Minghao nods, drums his fingers against Jeonghan’s skin where they’re connected, and says, “Yes.”

“If you would follow my lead, then,” Jeonghan says, and he slowly starts to move, humming so he can guide them both into an easy rhythm. Minghao stumbles at first but he must have some affinity, grace flowing into his movements steadily as they wander the same small circle Minghao had been pacing alone earlier.

It’s dull, especially once they start ebbing back and forth as naturally as the tides, and so Jeonghan grins, saying, “Just follow my lead, Sire,” as he breaks their pattern to spin out across the room. Their steps are still matched, and Jeonghan is slightly proud when he realizes Minghao is less tense beneath his hands. He’s even more proud when he sees a smile twitch at the corner of Minghao’s lips.

They dance a good while, Jeonghan losing track of time again in the moment. He always did love to dance back home, flitting from partner to partner until he found someone who could keep pace with him, and subsequently spending most of his time on the floor with Soonyoung.

Jeonghan doesn’t want to stop dancing, he never wants to stop, losing himself in the movements as if he were back home, the minstrels playing music of celebration and joy. It’s been more than two months since Jeonghan could properly revel in those emotions, and he finds that he can’t deny himself the escape now.

But if Jeonghan won’t restrain himself, it seems the heavens are happy to do the deed for him. One of the grand doors open and immediately Minghao freezes, Jeonghan halting with him easily, and they both turn to see who has found them.

Hansol stands in the doorway, and Jeonghan lets out a small sigh of relief. Hansol is safe. Hansol won’t tell anyone of this … well, this indecency - Jeonghan has Minghao’s hand on his side, his own on Minghao’s shoulder, and their other hands are clasped together. If Jeonghan still wore his crown, this would not be so strange, but Jeonghan wears the same clothes Hansol does, and so the sight they make is a scandalous one.

Gently, Jeonghan disentangles himself from Minghao, and takes the situation into his own hands as both Minghao and Hansol seem scared stiff, asking, “Did you need something, Hansol?”

Wide, brown eyes dart to Jeonghan as Hansol stutters, “Y-Yes. You. I mean, you missed dinner so I was looking for you to ask if you needed help.”

“Dinner was served?” Minghao asks suddenly, and when Hansol nods, matching his franticness, he gasps and says, “I have to go.” He turns to Jeonghan again, glancing down and away from him as he murmurs, “Thank you for your help. You make a very adept partner.”

“It was my pleasure, Sire,” Jeonghan says, bowing once more and only straightening as Minghao nods and hurries out of the room past Hansol.

**Author's Note:**

> Art exists to be witnessed.
> 
> If you’re so inclined after reading my fic, comments are always appreciated, especially if you have thoughts, feelings, or questions about the story. Regardless of whether it’s long or short, comments let me know that my work was engaged with, which, as a writer, is all I hope for those reading my fic to do.


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